^^ 




KRIh 


Hi: THE 


l^jfl 


H POEMS 


'IH^I 


H: OF A 




B CHILD 




^^B^ 


■'^M 


1^ COOLEY" 




^ 




Class 
Book 



.4^ 






CopightN" 



904 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




JULIA COOLEY 



THE POEMS OF A CHILD 

BEING POEMS WRITTEN BETWEEN 
THE AGES OF SIX AND TEN 



BY 



TnTK-u. JULIA ^cooley) Oxt^c 



CO(-uJU 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
BY 

RICHARD LE GALLIENNE 




NEW YORK 
R. H. RUSSELL PUBLISHER 

MCMIV 



ro 350 1 



LIBRARY of OONGRPSS 
Two Cooies Recelvec; 

JUN 8 1904 
Copyright Entry 

CLASS y5| XXo) No. 

COPY B 



Copyright, 1904, by Harper & Brothbrs. 



jIU rights reserved. 
Published June, 1904. 



I 






^ Contents 

^ PAGE 

Introduction i 

Untitled Poems 47 

What Nature is Like to Me .... 50 

My Lover 50 

My Baby Brother. . . . ' 51 

Sunset 51 

Arachne's Home 52 

The Happy One 52 

The Clover . 53 

Farewell 53 

The Joyful Leaves 54 

The Lightning 54 

Dear Little Blue Grass 55 

The Dear Little Buttercup .... 55 

The Cheese Flower 56 

Mother Hill 56 

A Thought 57 

The Little Brook 57 

Jack Frost 58 

The Woods 58 

iii 



Contents 



PAGE 



Deeds of the World 59 

The Little Brook ^60 

The Raindrops 60 

Harvest 61 

A Quiet Home 62 

Harvest 63 

The Cornstalk 63 

To My Valentine 64 

A Fair Young Maiden 65 

The Wise Wishes 66 

March 67 

The First Violet of Spring .... 68 

The Fairies 69 

The Night 70 

Lament 72 

The Poor that Give Happiness ... 73 

New Year's Day 74 

The Cloud 75 

The Joys of Camping Out 76 

The Seed that Grows and Dies ... 77 

The Wild Rose 77 

The Brook and The Trees 78 

The Fairies 79 

Pleading 80 

The Elves 81 

The Silver Moon 82 

Summer 83 

iv 



Contents 

PAGE 

The Fairies 84 

The Apple Orchard 85 

The Sunset 89 

Sleep go 

Repose 91 

The Lake 92 

Sunbeams 93 

Cupid's Dream 94 

The Brook 95 

The Stars 96 

Baby Brother's Eyes 97 

The Thorn 98 

Morn 98 

Magic Music 99 

The Rustling Leaves 99 

The Fairies' Boat ... .... 100 

My Wish loi 

Day Dreams loi 

Daffodils 102 

Violets 102 

Poppies 103 

Nasturtiums 103 

Lilies 104 

•*■■ — Dandelions 105 

May 106 

The Fairy Boat 106 

The Bats 107 

y 



Contents 

PAGE 

The Tear io8 

Spring io8 

Beauty Near the Lake 109 

Lincoln no 

The Cave of Ice in 

The Silent Shore 112 

The Poplar Trees 113 

A Hilly Country 114 

Evening 115 

Gladsome Robins 116 

The Lonely Vale 116 

A Sweet Dream of a May Day .... 117 

Song to the Wind 118 

The Clouds 118 

The Quiet Cemetery 119 

The Woods 119 

Woodland Tower 120 

•t-The Old Orchard 121 

The Country Church 122 

The Brook 123 

Sunset Meadow 124 

Indian Chant 125 

Nature 126 

Nature's Argument 127 

To Aunt Tess 129 

The Silent Wood 130 

Eventide at the Ocean 131 

vi 



Contents 



PAGE 



The Marsh at Nantucket 132 

A Happy Birthday 133 

My. Little Followers 134 

The Joy of the Country 135 

Departure 136 

What Time Brings 136 

The Country Sublime 137 

When Summer is O'er 138 

Fall 138 

Fall and Spring 139 

An Anniversary 140 

An Anniversary 141 

The Moon 142 

Sunset 144 

Twilight 14S 

Youth i4S 

A Thought op a Lonely Damp Valley . 149 




Introduction 



*URING the summer of 190 1 
I was spending a few days 
with some friends who have 
a pleasant home in one of 
the green valleys of Con- 
necticut. Among the mem- 
bers of the household was a little girl of 
eight, a simple, happy child, as childlike 
as child can be, even more so than little 
girls of eight are apt to be in America. 
No child could possibly have less of the 
infant phenomenon about her, and I lived 
in the same house with her for several days 
without realizing the significance of little 
Julia Cooley, whose poetry I am about to 
introduce to the reader. 

The reader, doubtless, has a very natural 



The Poems of a Child 

dread of the infant prodigy, in which feel- 
ing I am entirely with him. But as Julia 
Cooley does not play the piano, or perform 
the usual unchildish marvels, perhaps he 
may waive his prejudice for once and give 
her a patient hearing. 

Julia Cooley is blessed with a relative such 
as too seldom goes with the infant phenom- 
enon — a sensible mother; a mother who 
in no way spoils her or encourages her to 
think that she is different from other chil- 
dren, while, of course, she is none the less 
happily conscious of the remarkable gifts 
of her little girl, and properly awake to her 
responsibility for their care and develop- 
ment. It was with great diffidence that 
Mrs. Cooley brought herself to speak to 
me about her little daughter's verses, and 
showed me the quaint little manuscripts, 
fearing that she might seem the usual fond, 
deluded mother. But I shall be much sur- 
prised if the reader does not agree with me 
in thinking that it is no mere mother's love 
which sees a remarkable gift in a child who 
could write such verses at the age of eight. 
As a matter of fact, many of the following 

2 



Introduction 



poems, and some of the best, were writ- 
ten at the age of seven, and all have 
been written before the age of eleven, 
for Julia will not be eleven till July 4, 
1904. 

Julia Cooley was born in Seymour, Con- 
necticut, July 4, 1893, and it was the pious 
fancy of her parents to have her baptized 
with water brought from the Jordan. She 
is the daughter of Harlan Ward Cooley and 
Nellie Wooster, her mother being the daugh- 
ter of a well-known Connecticut manufact- 
urer, living at Seymour, and a descendant 
of one of the oldest New England families. 
The Cooleys live in Chicago, and are accus- 
tomed to leave the city every summer to 
spend their holidays in the old home at Sey- 
mour; and it was in the beautiful, green 
valley of the Naugatuck, with its romantic 
rock and woodland, that the passion for 
nature which inspires all little Julia's po- 
etry first awakened. There she wandered 
at large about her grandfather's meadows, 
drinking in the natural sights and sounds, 
and revelling like a gypsy in all the summer 
luxury of country life. In one of her later 
3 



The Poems of a Child 

poems (written when she was barely ten!) 
she speaks of 

**. . . the rock which in days gone by 
Was my throne while I learned the secrets 
of the woods," 

and in a poem written much earlier (at the 
age of eight) she happily catches the spirit 
of those rapturous summer days. The poem 
was written during one of my visits to 
Seymour, and I well remember her coming 
to me aglow from the meadows carrying 
her newly made manuscript in her hand. 
No one can ever have accused her of being 
a studious, in-door child, absolute tomboy of 
the fields as she is, but apparently she had got 
it into her head that she was liable to be so 
misunderstood. So she had written this poem , 
which she called "The Happy One" — her 
own title, for she always finds her own titles : 

"I'm not the silent one. 
I'm not the one that sits and reads the 

live-long day. 
I'm not the stone, the nesting bird or the 
shadow of the stone. 
4 



Introduction 



I'm the romping, scampering one. 

I'm the one who runs and sings among the 

flowering fields. 
I'm like the leaves, the grass, the wind, the 

happy little butterfly and the little 

scampering clouds." 

What a picture of a happy child — made 
by herself! 

Suddenly one day during these Seymour 
holidays, when she was only six years and 
two months old, and could as yet neither 
write nor spell, Julia came to her mother, 
asking her to write down a little song she 
had made. But the incident is best told in 
a letter which Mrs. Cooley wrote to her 
husband on this occasion, a letter from 
which I am privileged to quote. The let- 
ter is dated October 15, 1899. "Sunday is 
Julia's helpless day," writes Mrs. Cooley. 
"On other days she roams from one end of 
the farm to the other and asks no odds of 
any one. Yesterday she came in from the 
hill, where she had been husking corn with 
Hull and Henry, rosy and bright-eyed and 
beautiful. She said she had made up a 
5 



The Poems of a Child 

little song, which she thought I would like 
to write down in a book! So I got out 
pencil and paper and wrote as she sang or 
chanted in a stirring monotone : 

' Walking on the hill I saw five little dande- 
lions with their yellow dresses on. 

They thought it was summer. 

Six of them had gone to seed and had 
their white dresses on. 

They knew it was fall. 

I was helping the farmers with the com, 

The blue sky above and the sunshine.' 

"Later again Julia came in smiling with 
the ecstasy of composition, and when my 
pencil and paper were ready, she sang: 

'It was an autumn day 
The leaves had turned brown and yellow 

and red, 
And were gently falling. 
It was an autumn day.' " 

Here, in these two poems quoted by her 
mother, we see Julia, at the age of six 
6 



Introduction 



years and two months, and still unable to 
read or write, making nature-pictures out 
of words with a vivid simplicity of im- 
pression, an instinct of economy and direct- 
ness, and a native sense of form truly aston- 
ishing. 

In one of her many note-books (of which 
I shall have to speak again), Julia has a 
quaint little autobiographic comment upon 
this occasion. It is headed, " How I Hap- 
pened to Write," and is dated July lo, 1902 : 

"One day when I was six years old," 
she says, " I was walking through a beautiful 
meadow. I saw something that impressed 
me very much. It was a little dandelion 
that had gone to seed. The place where 
it once had given forth sunshine was now 
draped in white, because it thought that 
we would get tired of its yellow garment — 
so that is why she changed it. But we 
never do get tired of it. Because this im- 
pressed me I wrote about it, because I 
enjoy writing, so I wrote about all things 
that impressed me, and now I love to write 
because I wrote little stories and poems 
when I was small." 

7 



The Poems of a Child 

When I was small! Julia had been nine 
years old for six days when she wrote this. 
In other respects, I understand that Julia 
Cooley was not a specially precocious child. 
At six years and two months, as we have 
seen, she could not read, write, or spell — 
though this backwardness, it must be said, 
is accounted for by serious illness, she being 
at first very delicate — but here again she 
was presently to demonstrate a remarkable 
capacity. Within a year from that time 
she could do all three at least as well as 
children twice her age. When I first met 
her, she being then just eight years old, she 
could read the most difficult book glibly at 
sight, and with apparent understanding of 
its meaning — at all events, with intelligent 
emphasis and pause. This we tested one 
day by taking up a book that lay at hand 
and asking her to read. It chanced to be 
Stevenson's Letters. We opened the book 
at Mr. Colvin's preface, matter which, how- 
ever interesting to grown-ups, is not easy 
reading for a child. Nevertheless, she 
began it right away, without the least 
hesitation, and read on for two or three 
8 



Introduction 



pages without any difficulty, the big words 
apparently coming as easily to her tongue 
as the Httle ones. It was a surprising 
performance, and confirmed me in my 
opinion of the remarkable force and alert- 
ness of her mind. And with it all such an 
absolute child, not to say baby! It seemed 
almost impossible to believe, as one looked 
at her, that there was such a mature brain 
inside that little, golden head. Stevenson 
put down, she was off next minute to jump 
rope in the sun, happily unconscious of the 
almost uncanny feeling with which she had 
inspired her elders. Later I came upon her 
curled up in a chair on the veranda, busy 
with paper and pencil. She had prom- 
ised me a poem and was at work on it. 
I may say that she already practises the 
art of dedication, and many of her poems 
bear dedications, such as **To Grandma," 
"To Aunt Tess," "To Mother." There is 
seldom anything personal in the poems. 
They are usually nature-pictures, dedicated 
to one or other of her friends, as an artist 
gives a drawing to a friend. And that 
reminds me that she often illustrates her 
9 



The Poems of a Child 

verses with colored drawings, which of late 
have shown no little decorative instinct. 
She loves, too, to do up her poems in dainty 
little booklets, with decorations and illus- 
trations in crayon, and when she makes a 
copy of a poem for a friend, instead of 
making a mere copy she loves to think of 
some fanciful device in which to present 
it. Thus on Lincoln Day, 1904, she made 
a series of paper flags. Taking a folded 
sheet of paper, she elaborately drew and col- 
ored the American flag, flag-staff and all, 
then cut the rest of the paper away. When 
you opened the flag, as one opens a sheet of 
note-paper, you found a poem written inside. 
She has innumerable fancies of the kind, 
showing that she has the born artist's de- 
light in the mere physical tools of his craft. 
Julia began to attend school in the 
April of 1900, three months before her 
seventh birthday. Before this, of course, 
she had had the advantage of a home- 
training full of all gracious influences of 
culture and the humaner and more in- 
telligent influences of religion. Her parents 
are of those who, while being, indeed, no 
10 



Introduction 



old-fashioned religionists, have been wise 
enough to retain, in the bringing up of their 
children, the tonic elements of the old 
Puritan training purged of their severity; 
and thus Julia, in addition to that intel- 
lectual and artistic culture which is of the 
atmosphere of her home, has had the good- 
fortune also of growing up in an atmosphere 
which is Christian in the most gracious and 
fruitful sense of that word. Though, as I 
have said, Julia showed no special precocity 
of the usual sort, she yet, while still a very 
tiny child, gave evidences of that fancy 
which is so abundant in her little verses. 
Once she said to her mother: "Mother, 
aren't the stars beautiful? I used to pick 
them before I came down." To this her 
mother answered: "How did you get 
down?" "I told God," was the reply, 
"that I wanted to get down to my mother, 
and didn't know how I should get there. 
God said: 'The sky will bend down, and 
you can get off.'" 

One trait of her babyhood was that she 
could never memorize ordinary nursery 
rhymes, but she early took a delight in 
II 



The Poems of a Child 

chanting out little snatches of her own 
making. On one occasion, being out with 
her mother in the country, she suddenly- 
cried out, or, rather, lisped — in num- 
bers! — "O woods! I have stones, and I 
have grass, and I have everythings." None 
other of her infantile improvisations have 
survived, but this formless cry, in view of 
the passionate love of nature which was 
soon to possess her, is certainly not with- 
out significance. 

At school, and once she could read, she 
became a rapid devourer of books. Books 
of natural history particularly deHghted her. 
Olive Thorne Miller's Book of Birds was one 
of her earliest treasures, as was another 
book on Moths and Butterflies. Other early 
favorites were Pip pa Passes and Tennyson's 
Narrative Poems. The famous line in " The 
Gardener's Daughter," "The lime a sum- 
mer home of murmurous wings," particular- 
ly charmed her with its music — though, like 
many another poet before her, she doesn't 
care for music, technically so called, and has 
no ear for it, fine ear as she possesses for the 
music of words. 

12 



Introduction 



Apropos her natural - history books, the 
following minute description of a butterfly 
(written in July, 1901) is worth quoting 
as showing the intensity and thoroughness 
of application, as well as the fineness of 
observation, which she brings to her studies 
of nature. She calls it **An Essay on 
Butterflies": 

''This is the description of a very in- 
teresting butterfly of my collection. It 
has very beautiful brown transparent wings 
with eleven dark orange dots underneath 
and around both sides of the neck and 22 
light orange dots outlining the lowest part 
of the wings. Around both light and dark 
orange dots, distinguishing black lines. And 
in and out of the dark orange dots there are 
little touches of white, light and dark blue 
and silvery green. Under the light orange 
dots are curved lines of dark and light black, 
and between those lines of light and dark 
black are silvery green and silvery white. 

"When I look through the wings with the 

sun, I seem to see silvery orange, silvery 

green and silvery blue. Now I will describe 

to you the other side of his wings. The 

13 



The Poems of a Child 

wings are so transparent that you can see 
that on the other side there are orange dots, 
though there are not any orange dots on 
this side. Up by the neck there is a large 
half circle of very dark black, but it is not 
so black that you can not see two dark 
pink spots on either side of the neck and 
there too is a silvery dark blue stripe and 
a dark silvery green stripe running into 
the black. Under the stripes are 2 very 
silver green stripes, in the middle of the 
silvery green stripes a very black stripe with 
a little brown. On each corner is a little 
white. Under the green are two thin 
black stripes and between those is a little 
silvery green. And if you look through 
it with the sun, you can see the same colors 
as you can on the other side. I caught 
it with my net." 

Julia, it must be understood, aspires to 
write prose as well as verse, and among 
the following there will be found two of her 
little fairy-tales, the one entitled "The 
Wise Wishes" being a fancy most endear- 
ingly childish. 

Speaking of her "prose," she is already 
14 



Introduction 



a most natural letter-writer, and I cannot 
resist the temptation to make some quo- 
tations from a circular letter addressed to 
a cousin of hers, Miss Julia Canfield, of 
Bridgeport, but really meant for the whole 
family. She calls her cousin "Joo-Can." 
Her nickname for herself is "Joo-Coo." 
"Woos" is short for "Wooster," another 
cousin; and I must further explain that 
on December 15, 1899, a little brother came 
to keep Julia company. Two or three lit- 
tle poems to him show how tenderly she re- 
gards him. But here at last is the letter: 

" Chicago, Illinois, 
''April 18, 1903. 

"Dear Everyone, — I am sure that 

J 00 -Can and Woos are very busy with 

school, as I am? but perhaps you will have 

time to read this little note. I regret not 

having written to you before, but I know 

you will forgive me when I say that I have 

had a little attack, but I have recovered 

altogether now. I write to thank you for 

the beautiful Easter gifts, brother just 

adores his little humpty-dumpty, and after 

15 



The Poems of a Child 

each meal exclaims 'have we any more 
humpty-dumpty candy eggs.' And I think 
that the little rabbit in the lettuce-leaf is 
the most appropriate present for me; and 
the sweetest too. I was going to send you 
something for Easter, but I have been so 
busy with a new poem. I think that you 
would like to read it, so you will find it 
enclosed in this letter. / hope this summer 
to do a great deal of writing, because there 
are such beautiful places in Seymour to 
bring out the imagination. You know that 
I really have a great wish to do something 
wonderful. I don't mean that I want to be 
greater than anyone, such as Shakespeare ^ 
Shelley, or Hawthorne. 

"Baby is so cunning, you never saw a 
sweeter baby (well not exactly a baby any 
more), but a dear little boy. My book 
about the sweet little things that he says 
has about five pages full. He is big enough 
now to get off dear little baby jokes, and he 
keeps us laughing all the time with them. 

"Mother has been to several plays this 
winter, which I am glad of. Just a few 
weeks ago I went to see The Tempest. It 
i6 



Introduction 



was simply grand! The part of Ariel was 
played by a Kenwood girl. I am reading 
David Copperfield and enjoy it very much. 
Is not Dickens delicious. And it really is 
true he can make you laugh and cry, can 
he not? . . . To-day a man came in the 
midst of the [music] lesson, a perfect image, 
to my fancy, of Mr. Mirdstone in David 
Copperfield. He was black as night, and I 
could think of him as caning David. I hope 
all are well. Your Loving 

"Jog-Coo." 

I print this letter not as being specially 
remarkable in itself, though it is an un- 
commonly good letter for a child of nine, 
but for its illustrative value in regard to 
the little girl whom in my opinion the fol- 
lowing pages show to be very remarkable 
indeed. The passages that I have italicized 
are almost uncanny with purpose and the 
sense of vocation, written as they are in 
a baby's "pot-hook" hand. Elsewhere she 
has this remarkable and touching confes- 
sion: "I just love to write. Whenever I 
am ready for a new sentence it comes to 
17 



The Poems of a Child 

me as if I turned and saw an angel bringing 
it to me." 

Whether or not JuUa's gift will develop, 
or wither like a February snowdrop, it is 
quite certain that she feels herself in- 
stinctively called to be a writer, and that 
all her thoughts and studies are more and 
more consciously to that end. A letter to 
one of her aunts, dated February 21, 1903, 
shows her to be already enamoured and 
studious of words as only the born writer 
can be. "I wish you could see my lovely 
Synonym book that mother gave me for a 
valentine," she says. "It is a dictionary 
and more too. It not only tells what the 
word means, but tells what is opposite it. 
For instance, I am looking up 'transparent.' 
This is exactly what I will find. 

"Transparent, syn. Pellucid, crystalline, 
translucent, limpid, diaphanous, obvious, 
clear, indisputable self-evident. 

"Ant. Thick, turbid, opaque, instrans- 
parent, mysterious, dubious, questionable. 
Is not that fine, I just love it so. 
'Your loving 

"Joo-Coo." 
18 



Introduction 



Imagine a child of nine so happy over 
a synonym dictionary — and yet remaining 
a real, little, human child. Her playful sig- 
nature, and touches here and there in her 
letters and verses, show her to be possessed 
of no little humor, and there is one poem 
which seems to show that she is alive to 
the quaint incongruity of herself. It is en- 
titled "The Clouds": 

"I see many forms in clouds. 
Angels guarding us — I'm sure that is a 

message from our Lord — 
And trees of many kinds. 
/ also see a funny face 
Laughing because Fm just a speck, you 

see. 

Just a speck, indeed! 

Reverting to Julia's study of words, her 
mother has told me how almost two years 
ago Julia was observed to be particularly 
hard at work for some weeks at a new 
manuscript book. It proved to be a 
rhyming dictionary which she was mak- 
ing for herself. She called it "Words for 
Poems — that Rhyme." When I last heard 
19 



The Poems of a Child 

of it it had grown to forty-one pages filled 
with rhyming words arranged in alphabetical 
order. This she made entirely without sug- 
gestion or assistance from any one. I think 
the reader may care to look at its first page : 



Asleep 


Adore 


Arose 


keep 


implore 


rose 


deep 


for 


foes 


weep 


more 


goes 


sleep 


store 


glows 
repose 
grows 
close 


Air 


Away 


Ache 


wear 


stay 


lake 


care 




drake 


tare 






prayer 






there 






fair 






beware 






Are 






far 






mar 






star 







20 



Introduction 



Besides this book, Julia's desk contains 
innumerable blank-books, all systematically 
dated and inscribed with a title, her name, 
and age. We have already seen her ref- 
erence to a book about her baby brother. 
Actually she has made two, one entitled 
"Brother's Book, and All about Him," 
and another entitled " Baby Brother's Sweet 
Sentences." Then she has a book with 
the charming title of the "For Ever Book," 
in which are recorded clever stories told 
by members of the family. She credits each 
story to its proper source, and dates it, 
and then writes, "Loved by Julia Cooley." 
She has, too, a little box which she calls her 
"For Ever Box." In this she keeps her 
letters from her father. Other books bear 
the titles: "Difficult words and what they 
mean," "Sentences that I made up," "Lit- 
tle Poetic Sentences that I shall Write," 
"Poems about Flowers," and "Beautiful 
Things that I Read." The last-named was 
begun on August 2, 1902, and the first par- 
agraph copied in was this from Charles and 
Mary Lamb's Shakespeare: "Love is a thorn 
that belongs to the rose of youth; for in 
21 



The Poems of a Child 

the season of youth if ever, we are nature's 
children. These faults are ours, though then 
we think not they are faults." Her last and 
most imposing blank-book bears the beautiful 
title, " On the Pathway of Paradise," and in 
it she has written all her more recent poems. 
One other note-book of no little signifi- 
cance is entitled "List of Poems that I 
shall Write." Under this head are collected 
some sixty titles, mostly dealing with nat- 
ure, such as "The Sunset," "The Lake," 
"The Brook," "The Stars," but some more 
abstract in theme, such as "Sleep," "Re- 
morse," "Death's Shadow." Another list 
is headed, "Titles for Long Poems," an- 
other, " List of Little Rhymes that I shall 
Write," "List of Songs that I shall Write." 
The titles alone in these three lists are so 
characteristic and full of poetic possibilities 
that I give the lists entire: 

Titles op Long Poems. 1902 

The Rustling Tree 
Never Ending Happiness 
THE Great and Radiant Sun 
The Moon's Veil 
22 



Introduction 



Forms in Clouds 
The First Violet of Spring 
• The Field of Daisies 
The Ice Mountain Key 
The Fragrant Flowers 
Forward March to War 
Where the Fairies go in Winter 
Do Fairies Grow? 
A Fairy's Dream 
The Pleasant Little Nook 
Oh, Speed Brave Knight 
Ring the Lily-bell 
The Mountain's Veil 
The Busy Rain Drops 
The Mossy Bank 
The Path that Leads to Roughness 
The Old Oak Tree 
The Sun Fairy 
The Merry Leaflets 
Baby's Mischievous Smile 
Thoughts on Passing the Church 
Going to School. 

List of Little Rhymes that I shall write. 

Hers is not Better than Yours 
Beware, Tipsy, if you do it again 
23 



The Poems of a Child 

Oh, Kitty, you have a Guilty Face 

My Heart is Broken 

A Grassy Little Mead 

I'd Rather be Myself than to be Queen. 

List of Songs that I shall write. 1902 

Never ending Happiness 

Birdie's Song 

A Store of good Things is awaiting you 

Is There a Tare in your Soul? 

There, There, Pretty Miss 

A Maiden 

Oh, Stay, Robin, Stay 

Oh, The Sound of War 

Oh, Partake of the Fun with Me 

Oh, I am Bored to Death 

Happiness never ceases. 

There is also a list of "Stories that I shall 
Write," but the titles here are not so sig- 
nificant. One suggestive title, "A Travel 
through Childhood," from which much 
might have been hoped, has unfortunately 
come to nothing. The little blank-book 
stands empty save for these opening 
24 



Introduction 



words: "As I was a baby not long ago, 
I think I may know more thoroughly the 
visions of childhood than any one else. My 
experience has been with myself and many 
another baby ..." 
(May, 1902.) 

One of Julia's latest literary masquerades 
is to affect the nom de guerre, and one of 
her poems is written for an imaginary lit- 
erary club, " The Nile Club," under the pseu- 
donym of "Praecros Belmarz." Another is 
signed " Pronvae Valese." And these strange 
names remind me that, like other children 
who do not write poetry, Julia has her in- 
visible playmates, or, rather, in her case, 
commanding spirits. 

"When she was the merest baby she 
talked always of Gavyan, Sosie and Alta. 
Gavyan was her evil spirit, and exerted a 
tyrannical power over Julia which is now 
almost hypnotic; in the beginning she 
would disobey in the name of Gavyan, al- 
ways explaining to her mother that Gav- 
yan commanded her to do so and so. 
This was Gavyan 's special influence in the 
2S 



The Poems of a Child 

early days. Now she has become a law 
in Julia's life, which she cannot resist. 
For instance, we find her rushing madly 
to accomplish some feat in a given length 
of time. Gavyan says, should she fail, 
she will die; should she succeed, live. She 
now says that Gavyan is continually dic- 
tating: ' Why, I prophesied it would happen 
just so.' Gavyan prompts all her naughti- 
ness, which is always delicious, and Julia 
does not dare to disobey her. Her mother 
is clever in realizing that her stem authority 
is nullified, and long ago gave up rivalry 
with Gavyan. Sosie was originally a good 
influence, counteracting that of Gavyan, 
but she soon became indistinct, and remains 
merely as a name in Julia's memory. Alta 
was merely a companion playmate to Sosie. 
She was an auxiliary in case of Gavyan 's 
overpowering evil. She is no longer even 
in Julia's memory." 

Before I turn to Julia's poems themselves, 
perhaps I may without indiscretion give one 
glimpse of her home life from one of her 
mother's letters, a glimpse to remind the 
reader once more what an absolute child in 
26 



Introduction 



the nursery this little poet and philosopher 
is, a glimpse which flashes on us, too, of that 
wise mother of whom I have before spoken. 
"Deeds of the World" and "A Few Lines," 
says Mrs. Cooley, "were written early in 
December. I had been making paper dolls 
for Julia and she was careless in her play 
with her brother and hurt him. So I put 
aside th6 paper dolls. The next morning 
she shut herself in her nursery, her sanc- 
tum sanctorum, and when she came out 
she roguishly slipped into my hand the lit- 
tle manuscript which she knows will soften 
my heart quicker than anything else. She 
explained the poem as meaning — the quick- 
ness with which one could repent, and the 
joy of repentance. She finished by say- 
ing: *It really means a great many things, 
and if I hadn't written it, I should call it 
very good. . . . 'The Little Brook' was 
inspired by the 23d psalm, which Julia had 
first learned by heart; that is, after recit- 
ing the 23d psalm Julia said: 'I think I'll 
put that into my own words ' — so she with- 
drew to the privacy of her nursery and this 
little poem was the result; the record of a 
27 



The Poems of a Child 

vision and a memory of Seymour and the 
summer. Then came ' The Raindrops ' com- 
posed in bed — and written off like a flash in 
our presence in the morning; and then this 
morning ' The Harvest ' — a poem not writ- 
ten from experience certainly. . . . This was 
written at the breakfast -table this morn- 
ing." 

And now to turn to the little manuscripts 
that soften the heart! I have not written 
so much about Julia Cooley herself in the 
least because I felt her poetry in need of 
the excuse of her childhood, for, had it been 
so, there would scarcely have been need to 
write about her at all. It is only because 
her verses, at their best, and as far as they 
go, are real poetry, poetry achieved, and 
not merely the promise of poetry, that she 
herself claims our attention — and astonish- 
ment. For, though the poetic gift is a 
miracle at all times, to find it already so 
active and mature in so young a child surely 
doubles the wonder. 

As she has grown older her poems have 
grown longer, but the best of them are 
usually tiny, seldom more than from four 
28 



Introduction 



to eight lines, usually unrhymed, and almost 
all pictures of nature, of her passion for 
which I have already written. One of her 
earliest verses, entitled "What Nature is 
like to me," shows her gift of picture-mak- 
ing in its simplest beginnings : 

"The sun is like a golden crown. 
The sky is like a blue and white knitted 

ball, 
The grass is like little pieces of silk thread, 
And the apple blossoms are like jewels." 

In this, as in many others of her verses, 
one is reminded of those tiny Japanese 
verses Mr. Lafcadio Hearn translates for us 
so exquisitely, and the imagery has often 
that naive concreteness which we find in 
the old folk-songs. 

Take two or three more examples: 

(I) 

"The grass is getting green, 
The daisies up are springing, 
And the hills are woven purple, 
While the birds commence their singing." 
29 



The Poems of a Child 

(2) 

"The pigeons are coming fluttering and 
twittering out of the pigeon house, 

How green the grass is! 

The leaves are fluttering down from the 
trees, 

How blue the sky isT* 

(3) 

"The buds have come and gone, 
And the leaves are falling, 
The floods of rain have not ceased, 
The light of morning has gone. 
And nightfall is coming on." 

Tiny and simple as these three little 
poems are, do they not show a remarkable 
power of conveying an impression, painting 
a picture, a power of selecting the vivid 
essential and leaving the rest which is all 
too rare among grown - ups, but which in 
a child of seven is little short of uncanny? 
These thumb-nails from nature — made on 
a mere baby thumb-nail — are, it seems to 
me, quite perfect and mature, within their 
limits, and are in no need of the writer's 
30 



Introduction 



age being attached to them. Would that 
certain Hving poets seven and eight times 
Julia Cooley's age could write so well! 

I will now quote several poems in which 
this pictorial quality of observation is 
blended with a sort of baby meditative- 
ness. The first is called "Dear little blue 
grass." It will be observed that Julia had 
just discovered "thou" and "thee" as po- 
etic pronouns, and was not yet at all at her 
ease in using them — but I leave the verse 
as she wrote it : 

"Little purpel blue grass 
Among the grasses I found thee growing, 
Dear little lass 
Thee grows where farmers all are mowing." 

She has the same difficulty with her 
pronouns in this picture of "The dear little 
Buttercup": 

"You are yellow as the sun. 
Thou growest among the tall grasses 
And out of thee I get pleasure and fun 
I findest thou in masses." 
31 



The Poems of a Child 

Again, this of "The Cheese Flower''; 

Thou art white and purple 
And shaped like a cup 
Your color is very simple 
And you are a flower of luck. 



Once more, best of all, this of "The 
Clover": 

" You dear little downy flower 
I foundest thee by the hill, 
I have played with thee by the hour, 
Why art thou so still? 

This last little poem seems to me par- 
ticularly striking, the last line especially. 
"Why art thou so still?" is a fine stroke of 
imagination such as older poets, once more, 
may envy. 

How charming is this little lyric called 
"The Joyful Leaves," how truly lyrical: 

" You merry little leaves, 
How can you be so happy? 
Always dancing from mom till night. 
32 



Introduction 



While you are happy 
I am sorrowful. 
You show that yoti are happy because 

green is a happy color. 
Merry little leaves, 
Merry little leaves, 
Merry little leaves." 

In regard to this poem the baby artist's 
comment on the fifth line should not go un- 
told. Coming with the lines to her mother, 
she said: " You know, mother, I don't really 
mean that I'm sorrowful. I only say it for 
the sake of the poetry." There, surely, 
spoke the artistic temperament in bud. 

Presumably, too, this little poem was writ- 
ten only ' ' for the sake of the poetry, ' ' not from 
actual experience. It is called " My Lover." 

** Over the hills and far away 
Where my true lover lives. 
O'er the valleys have I searched in vain, 
Oh, my heart has sunk in griefs." 

As Mrs. Browning has said, young poets 
are always ** sexagenary at sixteen," but a 
33 



The Poems of a Child 

broken heart at seven is surely the height 
of precocious Wertherism. The really curi- 
ous thing, however, is that our little poet 
should be conscious that when she writes 
so she is sad "on purpose," sad for artistic 
reasons! Indeed, as we have seen, sad- 
ness is anything but characteristic of her 
sunny childhood, and here I would beg 
the reader to look again at that fasci- 
nating little poem, "The Happy One" — a 
poem good enough for any one to have 
written, but surely as the work of a child 
of eight little short of marvellous. Note 
the remarkably observed and selected 
images of silence in the third line, "the 
stone, the nesting bird, or the shadow of the 
stone'' — and the similarly fortunate images 
of happy, sunny movement in the last line. 
And, apart from separate lines, how alive 
the little poem is with the "romping, 
scampering" feeling to be expressed; what 
a lovely line is, "I'm the one who runs and 
sings among the flowering fields"; and, as 
well, note the remarkable sense of form, of 
prose rhythm, shown in the use of a formless 
metre — quite a difficult achievement, 
34 



Introduction 



Julia is at her best in these brief un- 
rhymed impressions, and though " The 
Happy One" is perhaps the most strik- 
ingly successful of all her pictures, there 
are many that run it very close. Take 
this of *'The Little Brook," for exam- 
ple: 

'* Little singing brook 

Babbling in and out between the spark- 
ling stones 

And singing in the tone of blithest mer- 
riment. 

See the rainbow shining from the shadowy 
nook. 

Do you slumber quietly at night and sing 
no more?" 

What a lovely stroke of child-imagination 
is that at the end? And though nature 
provides her with most of her subjects, 
Julia's eye is no less true, and her touch 
no less sure, with any human scene that 
strikes her fancy. Take these two cleanly 
drawn pictures — one might almost say a 
la Whitman: 

35 



The Poems of a Child 

(I) 

* * See the little children dancing to the 
merry music, 

See the poor music - girl reach for the 
money, 

Look at the clear sunset of crimson, pur- 
ple and pink, 

See the grass — it looks like embroidery. 

Doesn't it make her happy?" 

(2) 

** Three little girls at play jumping rope. 
The clouds are black above them, but they 

do not see, 
They are so pre-occupied in their play. 
The shy squirrel knew that rain was com- 
ing on." 

And, again, this picture of "A Quiet 
Home": 

"Mama sits in her chair reading a book, 
Papa sits in his armchair reading the 

newspaper, 
Sister sits in her little chair with her doll, 
drawing, 

36 



Introduction 



And baby sits on the floor with his pict- 
ure-book and rag-doll: 
Such a happy family, all by the quiet fire 
And the great red sun seems just as 
happy." 

I hope the childishness of the themes — 
though they would not have seemed childish 
to Blake or Wordsworth — will not disguise 
for the reader the fine instinctive art with 
which these tiny pictures are made; the 
manner in which the significant detail, 
and that only, is seized, the economy of 
words, not one too many or too few, and 
the manner in which in each case the whole 
picture is rounded by some happy closing 
touch: "The shy squirrel knew that rain 
was coming on." Bless her! 

As was only to be expected, Julia's 
unrhymed poems are better than those in 
rhyme, though the reader will find her 
rhyming with success on occasion — and 
I confess to viewing with some disquie- 
tude her strenuous experiments with those 
"Words for Poems — that Rhyme." Many 
of her fairy fancies cannot but be maimed 
37 



The Poems of a Child 

for us in those experiments. Still, of course, 
the desire to rhyme was sure to come, and 
I have little doubt that the artistic instinct 
which has brought Julia so far will serve 
her here as well. Though she should prove 
a bad metricist, she could hardly be a worse 
than Mrs. Browning, in whose case the 
indifferent rhymes strove vainly to eclipse 
the divine poet. Indeed, as I write, a 
little poem comes to me entitled "Youth," 
a poem written so easily in rhyme as to 
make my misgivings already out of date. 
A story comes with it which must certainly 
be told. It appears that a certain maga- 
zine has been offering a prize for the best 
poem on "Youth" written by a child. 
Julia determined to compete, and produced 
these lines: 

"Ah! Youth, fair envy of hoary Time — 
I would that ever I could hear thy merry 

chime.. 
Thy laughter is a pleasure to old age. ..." 

Julia, having proceeded so far, showed 
the lines to her mother, who, while struck 

38 



Introduction 



by them, not unnaturally felt that no 
editor would believe them to be the work 
of a child, and said so. "Oh, I see," was 
Julia's comment, "you want a baby-poem," 
and thereupon produced, almost impromp- 
tu, the following: 

"When I was young I loved the birds and 

bees, 
I loved the sky, I loved the sighing trees, 
I loved the fields, I loved the babbling 

stream. 
And all day long I used to dream and dream 
Of all the lovely things I saw and heard, — 
The hill, the field, the little singing bird." 

This is what Julia contemptuously calls 
a "baby-poem "! 

Nature, it will be seen, is still her theme, 
and in this passionate love of nature alone, 
apart from the expression she has found 
for it, Julia would be sufficiently remark- 
able. Few are born that are so surely, 
to use her own words, of "the people who 
see nature visions"; for Julia's love of 
nature is, as will be seen, by no means 
39 



The Poems of a Child 

external, not merely a delight in the visible 
beauty of the world, but also a mystic 
religion, and her poems are no more re- 
markable for their verbal felicity than for 
their flashes of mystic insight. Take a 
thought like this — she herself calls it "A 
Thought" — "There are two of those pict- 
ures. One is reflected in the water, and one 
is the real one. I would like to steal the 
one that is reflected in the water." 

Or, again, this of "The Seed that Grows 
and Dies": 

"Babyhood is a seed. 
Childhood is a bud. 
Girlhood is a rose. 
Womanhood is a rose with three more 

petals but fading a little 
Old womanhood is the full grown rose 
withered but very sacred." 

Again, and particularly, this " Magic 
Music": 

"When I stand on the mountain top 
When I stand on the mountain top, I gaze 
40 



Introduction 



O'er the country wild, and wonder 
If some great thing will happen there, 
If some battle will be conquered there, 
If some spirit will alight in its woods." 

And once more, this "Woodland Tower'*: 

** Rising out of supreme greenness every- 
where 
Towers a woodland mountain 
Like a cherished flower. 
Greeting ocean breezes with a courtesy of 

its trees. 
Oh, tower of beauty. 
Looking down upon the other steps or hills, 
What marble step of life are you 
Leading to all Heaven's celestial blue?" 

Here are no mere pretty, chiming words. 
It is less the form than the thought that 
is poetic, and the veritable stuff of poetic 
thought is there. However varied her 
success in expression, Julia never writes 
without having something to say, and 
some of her thoughts are "long long 
thoughts." 

4 41 



The Poems of a Child 

Along with this mystic apprehension of 
nature, the reader will notice, too, the 
closeness of her observation, and occa- 
sionally even the application of her budd- 
ing knowledge of natural science, as, 
for example, in "The Brook." What is 
the secret the brook is whispering, she 
asks : 

"Is it that some joyful morn 
You will find yourself 
Borne by the foamy waves to a far-off 

distant country 
Or that some day 
You will find yourself taken to the sky 

again 
By a gold-winged sunbeam fairy V^ 

And, again, writing of "The Moon," she 
says: 

"This dweller of the lofty skies a spirit 
seems 
Whose vibrating thread of intercourse with 
us is made by a thousand laughing 
beams,'' 

42 



Introduction 



Even her school-books she thus "turns 
to favor and to prettiness" with the 
alchemic touch of her fancy. As to her 
fancy, it is everywhere, Ariel-like, through- 
out her poems, exquisitely nimble and 
quaint, and yet exceptionally vital, and 
close to the truth and beauty of things. 
Beautiful single lines are everywhere, too, 
lines that personally I find haunting me 
like the lines of the big, grown-up poets, 
"When the beautiful Sun arrives at China," 
I said to myself yesterday, quite forgetting 
it was Julia's, and when the spring comes 
I know I shall go about saying: 

"Merry little leaves, 
Merry little leaves. 
Merry little leaves." 

Of course, the poems that follow are by 
no means without many a childish blemish. 
Some are very imperfect, and some one or 
two are cryptic, even incomprehensible, as 
though the child were struggling with some 
thought she could not quite master. There 
is also a measure of repetition of motives, 
43 



The Poems of a Child 

and Julia may perhaps seem somewhat over- 
occupied with the fairies, for frivolous grown- 
up tastes. Yet there is, I think, no poem 
or fragment, however imperfect, that does 
not contain something worth keeping, some 
suggestive thought, some happy stroke of 
fancy, or some attractive phrase. 

Finally, I wish to claim that there is no 
question here of a child of promise merely. 
Julia Cooley's little poems do not merely 
give promise that some day she may write 
poetry; they prove that she has already 
written poetry. We have all heard of Sir 
John Suckling's learning at five and Pope's 
lisping in numbers, but that learning and 
those lispings were merely indications of a 
coming gift. JuUa Cooley's poems are the 
expression of a gift already at work, and I 
am serious in asking for them a serious con- 
sideration. 

Richard Le Gallienne. 



The Poems of a Child 



^\ICHJ. jU<>^ Jixi^ Q>AVX^ 

FAC-SIMILE OF A PAGE OF THE AUTHOR's MS. 

{Slightly reduced) ' 




' ALKING on the hill I saw 
five little dandelions with 
their yellow dresses on. 
They thought it was sum- 
mer. 
Six of them had gone to 
seed, and had their white dresses on. 
They knew it was fall. 
I was helping the farmers with the corn, 
The blue sky above and the sunshine. 



It was an autumn day 

The leaves had turned brown and yellow 

and red, 
And were gently falling. 
It was an autumn day. 

September, i8gg. 

The grass is getting green, 
The daisies up are springing, 
47 



The Poems of a Child 

And the hills are woven purple, 
While the birds commence their singing. 

March, igoo. 

The little fish are romping in the sea, 
And the sky is blue above them. 
The little waves are romping merrily, 
The sea-gulls float above them. 

March, igoo. 

See the little children dancing to the merry 

music, 
See the poor music girl reach for the 

money. 
Look at the clear sunset of crimson, purple 

and pink, 
See the grass. It looks like embroidery. 
Doesn't it make her happy? 

March, igoo. 

Three little girls at play, jumping rope. 
The clouds are black above them, but they 

do not see. 
They are so preoccupied in their play. 
The shy squirrel knew that rain was coming 

on. March, igoo. 

48 



The Poems of a Child 

The flowers are blooming, the trees are 

getting green; 
The sky is like a piece of woven silk, 
The showers of Spring are coming, 
The ill will soon be well. 

March, igoo. 

The buds have come and gone, 
And the leaves are falling. 
The floods of rain have not ceased, 
The light of morning has gone, 
And nightfall is coming on. 

March, igoo. 

The pigeons are coming fluttering and twit- 
tering out of the pigeon house, 

How green the grass is! 

The leaves are fluttering down from the 
trees. 

How blue the sky is! 

March, igoo. 



49 



The Poems of a Child 



What Nature is Like to Me 

The sun is like a golden crown, 
The sky is like a blue and white knitted ball, 
The grass is like little pieces of silk thread. 
And the apple blossoms are like jewels. 

March, igoo. 



My Lover 

Over the hills and far away 

Where my true lover lives, 

O'er the valleys have I searched in vain, 

Oh, my heart has sunk in griefs. 

March, 1900. 



50 



The Poems of a Child 



My Baby Brother 

Sweet little tot 
Dear as a posy 
. Not yet able to walk 
Cunning and rosy. 

April, I goo. 



Sunset 

The sun is sinking low 
Everything is lighted by its brightness 
Very slowly does it go 
Everything shares its happiness. 

April, I goo. 



SI 



The Poems of a Child 



Arachne*s Home 

Little tiny silken spider's web 

Jewels and pearls you wear upon your 

breast 
A woven coverlet of silk for some fairy's bed. 
Don't you think that house is best? 

June, igoi. 



The Happy One 

I'm not the silent one. 

I'm not the one that sits and reads the 

live-long day. 
I'm not like the stone, the nesting bird 

or the shadow of the stone. 

I'm the romping scampering one. 

I'm the one who runs and sings among the 

flowering fields. 
I'm like the leaves, the grass, the wind, the 
happy little butterfly and the little 
scampering clouds. 

July, igoi. 
52 



The Poems of a Child 



The Clover 

You dear little downy flower 
I foundest thee down by the hill, 
I have played with thee by the hour, 
Why art thou so still? 

July, I go I. 



Farewell 

Farewell, dear hills, 

Farewell fore'er 

It really makes me cry. 

Just think I must leave thee forever and 

ever. *Tis very sorrowful 
Forever just think of it, fore'er 
Farewell 

Farewell, dear hills, 
Farewell. 

July, I go I. 



53 



The Poems of a Child 



The Joyful Leaves 

You merry little leaves, 

How can you be so happy? 

Always dancing from morn till night. 

While you are happy 
I am sorrowful. 
You show that you are happy because green 

is a happy color. 
Merry little leaves, 
Merry little leaves. 
Merry little leaves. 

July, I go I. 



The Lightning 

The lightning through the sky is flashing 

Some in stripes and some in dots. 

But now 'tis time for rain drops to come 

dashing. 
Upon the grass they look like little jots. 

July, I go I. 



54 



The Poems of a Child 



Dear Little Blue Grass 

Little purpel blue grass 
Among the grasses I found thee growing, 
Dear little lass 

Thee grows where farmers all are mowing. 

July 12, I go I. 



The Dear Little Buttercup 

You are yellow as the sun. 
Thou growest amongst the tall grasses 
And out of thee I get pleasure and fun 
I findest thou in masses. 

July 12, igoi. 



55 



The Poems of a Child 



The Cheese Flower 

Thou art white and purple 
And shaped like a cup 
Your color is very simple 
And you are a flower of luck. 

July 12, igoi. 



Mother Hill 

The fleecy clouds dressed in a soft dress of 

white 
Are resting in the green velvet lap of a 

loving lady hill, 
Soon 'twill be time for them to slumber. 
But where will the lady leave them? 
She will keep the little lambkins in her 

loving lap at night. 

August 4, I go I. 



56 



The Poems of a Child 



A Thought 

There are two of those pictures, one is 
reflected in the water and one is the real 
one. I would Hke to steal the one that is 
reflected in the water. 



The Little Brook 

Little singing brook 

Bubbling in and out between the sparkling 
stones 

And singing in the tone of blithest merri- 
ment. 

See the rainbow shining from the shadowy- 
nook. 

Do you slumber quietly at night and sing 
no more? 

September lo, igoi. 



57 



The Poems of a Child 



Jack Frost 

Jack Frost with frozen finger tips lightly 

touched the flowers so bright, 
When I was walking in the garden he was 

dressed in misty white, 
A cap of red upon his head he wore 
And silver slippers on his tiny feet. 
But when I walked in the garden today 
The flowers I found in dull colors. 

October i6, igoi. 



The Woods 

The solitary woods are a place of peace for 

everyone. 
Birds and flowers and all. 
Oh, the peace of the green green woods 

where fairies dwell. 

December, igoi. 



S8 



The Poems of a Child 



Deeds of the World 

There was once a little girl who one day- 
said to her mother, "Why, the world seems 
so dark today." Her mother said "Think, 
have you done anything wrong?" The 
Httle girl thought. "Yes" said she. Then 
her mother told her that badness means 
unhappiness always. 

Oh, the world is full of badness. 
But wait, 'tis full of gladness 
What I said last was true. 
But what think you? 

December, igoi. 



59 



The Poems of a Child 

The Little Brook 

The little brook onward journeys never 

stopping 
In and out the shadow of the spreading 

oaks, 
Through the meadows velvet green, 
Through the marshy grasses tall, 
Like a bit of shining silver, 
Mirroring here and there a happy butterfly 
Blooming violets and daisies on their slender 

stems 
Dancing merrily in the summer breeze. 

January, IQ02. 



The Raindrops 

When at mom I saw the world in a dew- 
drop dress, 
I knew what had happened. 
The rain had kissed each flower lovingly. 
So sweet and so loving was the kiss 
That it shone like silver 
And the air was filled with fragrance. 

January 10, IQ02. 
60 



The Poems of a Child 



Harvest 

When harvest comes 

The merry working farmer 

With wife and babies three 

How happy he must be 

But some are old and weary 

With no wife and babes to comfort them 

When by the fireside they sit 

And think how happy others are 

And then a fairy comes to such a one and 

knocks 
And asks him what he most desires 
He looks in amazement and gazes 
Then says "I most desire 
My wife and child back again " 
But she answers "Ah, I can not grant it " 
Then he says " I can not think of joy unless 

you do " 
The hope gave him happiness for a minute 

only 
Then again he went his weary way. 

January ij, ipo2. 



6i 



The Poems of a Child 



A Quiet Home 

[to dear daddy.] 

Mama sits in her chair reading a book, 
Papa sits in his armchair reading the news- 
paper 
Sister sits in her Uttle chair with her doll, 

drawing, 
And baby sits on the floor with his picture- 
book and rag-doll; 
Such a happy family, all by the quiet fire 
And the great red sun seems just as happy. 

January, igo2. 



63 



The Poems of a Child 



Harvest 

[to dear daddy.] 

When harvest comes the happy Uttle children 
Romp and play among the drying hay. 
And when at sunset mammas are looking 

for their children 
They are sure to find them in the haystack 

as happy as can be 
And then they rest their sleepy eyes 
Then they say adieu to hay and all. 

January, igo2. 



The Cornstalk 

At first we put into the soft warm mother 
earth a seed 

And week after week it gradually grew 

Till at last a small green leaf shot slowly 
upward 

And then the whole red and green corn- 
stalk appeared in full beauty. 

January 15, igo2. 

63 



The Poems of a Child 



To My Valentine 

Dear Valentine wilt thou be mine 
Ah, dear, sweet answer me now 
Thou art fairer than the flowers 
Come to me and tell me, dear. 
Dost thou love me as I love thee 
Tell me, dear, ah, tell me 
Thou art fairer than the day 
Thy locks are golden as the sun 
Thy cheeks blush like the sunset sky. 

February, 1902. 



64 



The Poems of a Child 



A Fair Young Maiden 

There lived a maiden yonder in the woods 
Her golden locks were like the sunbeams 

in the flowers 
Her eyes were like the violets just in bloom 
Her lips were like the summer roses. 
And when old Winter came she was bright 

and sweet 
As if the sun were shining still. 
But now she lies in a snow-white grave 
With the violets and roses over it 
And I suppose the birds guard it lovingly. 

February 15, IQ02. 



65 



The Poems of a .Child 



The Wise Wishes 

Once there was a little girl who was 
very sad to think of the wrongs of the 
world. When she was sadly gazing a fairy 
dressed in beautiful garments granted her 
three questions. She would give her a 
year to think of each one. 

In another year she came back and the 
little girl said that she would like best of 
all to have the fairy take down the names 
of all the people that were not good. And 
in another year she came and she said she 
would like a bible for each of them that 
had their names in the book. And the 
next year they all came together on a hill. 
It was sunset. Each one threw their sins 
on the setting sun and ever after that 
every one was good. 

March, igo2. 



66 



The Poems of a Child 



March 

March is a beautiful month, 

For it brings Spring flowers and green 

meadows. 
It brings bright blue skies and everything 

lovely. 
Spring is Summer's messenger. 

Summer is dressed in a robe of green 
With violets and roses in her golden hair 
Her slippers are red with golden buckles. 

March, IQ02. 



67 



The Poems of a Child 



The First Violet of Spring 

One day as I was walking in the silent 

leaf-draped wood 
Where the nymphs in their dells were sur- 
rounded by lillies, 
I saw beneath a spreading willow tree 
A soft small star of purple, 
With a net of dewdrops gHstening upon it. 
I stooped and picked the fragrant flower. 
Then a nymph appeared with her wand 

uplifted. 
"Ah, drop it" she cried, "It belongs to the 

Queen of Spring." 
I stopped and gazed in wonder for the 

violet had fallen from my hand. 
And thousands of nymphs came silent as 

the buds; 
And where each nymph stood a violet grew 
Some at my feet and others far away. 
And a faint cry could be heard from the 

place where the violet had dropped. 
Then the nymph silently touched the violet, 
And it grew again. 

March, igo2. 
68 



The Poems of a Child 



The Fairies 

Where do the Uttle fairies dwell? 

I know their secret well. 

Their home is down with the Wood-land 

Queen 
It is an invisible palace of velvet green. 

Their palace is enchanted so no one can see 

it but they 
They catch the sunbeams and use them for 

a light of a brilliant ray 

Their court is filled with perfumed flowers 
And vines of roses hang from their fragrant 
bowers. 

Their fence is of river grasses tall 

And a winding stairway leads to their 

golden hall 
And a little babbHng brook runs happily 

down the fairy hills, 
The fairies need not have the grinding 

mills. 

Spring, jgo2. 

69 



The Poems of a Child 



The Night 

The trailing garments of the night* appear 
As the rose-colored sunset disappears. 
The kingly Sun rides in his golden chariot 

around the earth 
With the rainbow for a cushion, 
And slowly sinks behind the guardian 

clouds, 
The turquoise sky is ready to greet him 

everywhere. 
The trees grow shadowy and dark, 
And the fairies join in their nightly dance 

with the woodland Queen 
Then the white-draped ghosts begin to 

creep about 
And frighten all who see them. 
But it is not the ghosts. 
It is the shadows of the silky leaves, 
Only the sky seen through the foliage 
Of the dark green of the summer trees. 

*This, of course, is a direct reminiscence of 
Longfellow. 

70 



The Poems of a Child 

When the beautiful Sun arrives at China, 

it scatters happiness everywhere 
Even upon unfortunate poor people 
Leaving dark behind him. 
But the thought and memory of him leaves 

brightness even though he were to stay 

away a year 
God, not forgetting us, sends the beautiful 

moon instead 
So if we do not forget the Sun, we may have 

happiness still. 
And then too He sends innumerable brilliant 

stars. 
He does not think that a half moon will do. 
But the people who see nature visions do 

not really need the moon though they 

love it. 

Even though the stars look small, 

Each one gives forth more blessings than 
one can count. 

When morning comes again we see the Sun 
robed in a different dress 

Wishing he were the Lady Moon, he some- 
times puts on the colors she loves to 
wear, 

71 



The Poems of a Child 

Which is the misty dress. 
He can not find the real color of the Moon. 
The place where she gets it is a secret 
Except to the Daisy, who is the only one 

she has told her secret to 
The Daisy to show her gratitude to the 

lovely Moon 
Puts a yellow star in the center of her robe. 
The Sun is still trying to find the place 

where the Moon gets her lovely silver. 

Spring, I go 2. 



Lament 

Oh, those sword-clad words, sword-clad 

words. 
Ah, if those words are true, 
I will watch the winged birds, 
The rainbow-colored birds. 

April, IQ02. 



72 



The Poems of a Child 



The Poor that Give Happiness 

Out in the cold, cold lamp-lit street the 

organ grinder stands, 
With his stiff and freezing hands. 
His happy yet sad music thrills us all. 
He brings cheerfulness to generous famiHes 
And sadness to the houses where one will 

not give. 
All hard-hearted people are discontented. 
The poor organ grinder never sees a vision 

of happiness. 
He does not dream of even a little cottage 

with one book 
Or anything that gives forth contentment. 
The Lady in the Moon gives the organ 

grinder some joy; 
But he is usually too sad to even look at 

her OP at the silver stars 
The moon is beautiful to kind and generous 

people, 
Even to the rich it seems beautiful. 
The music of the organ grinder thrills all 
people who can see visions 
6 73 



The Poems of a Child 

As for instance, the people who see forms 
of maidens in the clouds. 

Such think that the music of the organ 
grinder is beautiful. 

There is a magic touch of sadness to them 
in the music, 

Something lovely, something sad, some- 
thing too sad to tell. 

May ly, igo2. 



New Year's Day 

The joyous bells are echoing over hill and 

dale, 
And glad tidings to all are bringing. 
Even the poor feel something magic in the 

atmosphere 
And rejoice with the world. 
The old year passes away with a sigh of 

farewell to the beautiful earth 
And as he passes by, the infant New Year 
Bids him be happy wherever he may go 
In the memory of the great deeds he has 

done. 

May, igo2. 

74 



The Poems of a Child 



The Cloud 

As the dusky night approached 

A sight more marvelous and beautiful met 

my eyes 
Than I had ever seen before. 
A fleecy purple cloud embroidered with gold 

was resting in the sky 
Then two little guardian clouds 
Hovered over it, watching it. 
These also were embroidered with gold. 
Under it was the sun, dressed in a garment 

of opal. 
Out from it streamed brilUant rays 
And the whole sky seemed to be illumined 

by the wonderful opal ball. 

May i8, igo2. 



75 



The Poems of a Child 



The Joys of Camping Out 

To see where the Fairies danced the night 

before 
To see where the silver moon glittered on 

their gauzy gowns 
And to think where they were going to do 

good deeds on the morrow 
Where the nymphs rang the lily bells — for 

church in the hollow tree 
And the sunbeams were nailed to the walls 

when the Hghtning bugs . . . 

Unfinished, July, igo2. 



76 



The Poems of a Child 



The Seed that Grows and Dies 

Babyhood is a seed. 

Childhood is a bud. 

Girlhood is a rose. 

Womanhood is a rose with three more petals 

but fading a little 
Old womanhood is the full grown rose 

withered but very sacred. 

August J, I go 2. 



The Wild Rose 

[by praecros belmarz] 

In the wood stands the tall wild rose, 
Beautiful but still stinging with its thorns, 
It stands with them ready to face its foes. 
The beautiful rose means our wonderful and 

happy life 
And its thorns mean our few troubles which 

come in different forms. 

August 17, igo2. 

77 



The Poems of a Child 



The Brook and The Trees 

[by pronvae valese.] 

In the shady wood rushed a little babbling 
brook, 

And it happily sang all day long. 

At night the rustUng trees of its merriment 
partook 

And sang the same song, 

While the flowers watched them in a shad- 
owy nook, 

And the birds listened in their nests. 

The trees their friend never forsook, 

And the Brook and the Trees never cared 
because the birds and the flowers were 
their guests. 

August 25, 1Q02. 



78 



The Poems of a Child 



The Fairies 

There are Swamp Fairies and Wood 
Fairies and Sunbeam Fairies. The fairies 
we usually talk about are the fairies of the 
sunbeams. This is the way the Swamp 
Fairies make their wands. They skim the 
sunbeams from the water and put them into 
a golden goblet. Then they drop in silver 
sand and golden pebbles and set it in the 
sun till it becomes a golden liquid. Into 
this they dip river grasses and the tips 
shine like stars. 

The wands of the Sunbeam Fairies are 
sunbeams. 

The Wood Fairies catch the falling stars. 

August 26, I go 2. 



79 



The Poems of a Child 



Pleading 

Oh, beautiful sky so blue and sad 

Do not carry dear sister away 

Where happily resting are many a lassie and 

lad 
For tears and sad thoughts of her will reign 

over me every day 
Though she will be happy sailing in the 

woolen clouds away. 
I could not live without her, but yet I could 

not leave dear mother, 
So I think she'd better stay. 
I could not even hear the babbling brook 

sing loud. 
Oh, glittering golden Sun 
Oh, let her stay if she may. 

August, igo2. 



80 



The Poems of a Child 



The Elves 

The bright little Elves live in the woodlands 

green 
Where the silky moss grows most abundant. 
The Elves do not live by a brook as the 

Fairies do. 
They much prefer a stream. 
The Fairies love the babbling brook best. 
And the Elves love the winding stream best. 

The little Elves are as spry as squirrels. 
They know the place to find things just 

as Fairies do 
They find trees and flowers and jewels, but 

especially pearls. 
Just think, the Elves are fond of playing 

school. 

September 20, igo2. 



81 



The Poems of a Child 



The Silver Moon 

When the night came flitting from the East 

and West 
The silver Lady Moon softly arose from 

the still smooth sea 
At last it rose as high as to touch the highest 

mountain crest 
Then it opened a cave in the ice to see 

all its beauties 
With the key that it calls the Iceland Key. 
At last it disappeared behind the purple 

mountains, 
And the brook softly murmured "Ah, fair 

Moon, why do you disappear so soon 
So to express its sorrow, it emerged from 

the ground two little sad fountains. 
And so the brook seldom sings in the day- 
time 
Because it is lonely without its friend the 

Moon 
But at night it sings a merry song. 

September 22, igo2. 



82 



The Poems of a Child 



Summer 

When Summer comes laden with flowers 

She diverts the course of Spring 

And the messenger of Spring strews her 

path with flowers. 
And finds a lily for a bell to ring. 
Sometimes Summer goes to sleep and then 

it showers. 
Then the Fairies guard her and drape her 

with flowers 
And when she wakes again the sun shines. 

September 22, igo2. 



83 



The Poems of a Child 



The Fairies 

The Fairies live in the woodlands green 

where the flowers grow. 
They dance at night when the moon shines 

through the trees 
In winter they dance on the glittering snow. 
They are similar to the nymphs that live 

in the seas. 
The Fairies live in a beautiful cave. 
Their dresses are made of river grasses with 

rose petals woven in 
Their lamps are made of a little sunbeam 

nailed to the wall. 
They Hke the sunbeam best that comes from 

the dewdrop on the rose. 

September 22, igo2. 



84 



The Poems of a Child 



The Apple Orchard 

The crimson apples nestle in the green 

leaves of the apple tree, 
As Fairies rest in the petals of a rose. 
The beautiful emerald leaves add as much 

beauty as the rubies themselves. 

October, igo2. 



8s 



Poems from a Manuscript Volume 
Entitled 

"On the Pathway of 
Paradise " 



The Sunset 

[H, sunset, is the rainbow 
your brother or your 
sister ? 
And are you the throne 
for the Queen of the 
Sky-fairies 
So that she may look the wide, wild world 

and waters o'er 
And behold the setting of the sun? 

November 7, igo2. 




89 



The Poems of a Child 



Sleep 

Oh, magic, fairy sleep. 

Upon the barren mount-tops 

And brooksides 

And on the grassy hill-tops where shepherds 
tend their sheep; 

Everywhere you wander touching every- 
thing you see 

And opening houses with a golden magic 
key. 

You only do your work when night comes 
skipping from the east and west, 

And people are at rest. 

November 8, igo2. 



90 



The Poems of a Child 



Repose 

Repose, sleeping both day and night 

While birds sing gaily. 

While grasses nod their tiny heads 

And butterflies play near your feet. 

At night the fireflies make a light for you 

At morning the sun for you its radiance 

sheds. 
You want for nothing, 
Ah, happy Repose. 

November 8, 1902. 



91 



The Poems of a Child 



The Lake 

Oh, beautiful, silver crystal lake 

A million dewdrops take refuge in your 

kindhearted breast 
And sparkle like the glistening snowfiakes 
On a golden day. 

You are kind to all the birds and beasts. 
The sea-gull darts in and out amidst your 

waters cool 
And the swan floats upon you 
Like a snowy cloud 
Upon a meadow blue. 

November 21, igo2. 



92 



The Poems of a Child 



Sunbeams 

Merry little sunbeams 
Glistening like the golden sand 
And playing like the leaves upon the trees; 
What could we do without you, little sun- 
beams ? 
You make our lives seem bright 
You dance and play amidst the wavy grass. 
You shine upon the gleeful butterfly 
And reflect your image 
In the calm celestial waters blue. 

November 2j, igo2. 



93 



The Poems of a Child 



Cupid's Dream 

Be quiet, for Cupid is asleep. 

Do not trouble his slumber. 

I am sure sweet dreams are prevailing over 

his thoughts 
For see the smile that covers his roguish 

dimpled face. 
What tiny footstep is that I hear? 
'Tis the fairies, I'm sure 
Come to sprinkle flowers upon him, 
Yes, it is, see the roses they brought. 
Oh, they have wakened him 
What sweet dream did you have, Cupid? 
**I dreampt" answered Cupid, 
"That I shot a golden arrow 
Through the hearts of two lovers." 

November 23, igo2. 



94 



The Poems of a Child 



The Brook 

Little babbling brook 
Whispering to the birds and bees 
The whole day through 
In your silvery voice. 
As you run along 
Beside the tall rank river-grass 
You whisper little secrets 
In your native voice. 
What is the secret? 
Is it that some joyful morn 
You will find yourself 
Borne by the foamy waves to a far-off dis- 
tant country 
Or that some day 

You will find yourself taken to the sky again 
By a gold-winged sunbeam fairy? 

November 25, igo2. 



95 



The Poems of a Child 



The Stars 

The stars are numerous as the snowflakes 

white, 
And as distinct and clear as crystal, 
At night they glisten 
Like a million diamonds in the sky, 
And stand in an everlasting line 
Watching like guardians 
Over all the world 
To keep us safe from harm. 

November 2g, igo2. 



96 



The Poems of a Child 



_i 



Baby Brother's Eyes 

Baby's eyes are full of mystery. 

Baby's eyes look upward toward the sky 

To question God 

Whether or not he shall tell us yet 

What wondrous tale lies beneath their 
brown depths; 

And what wonderful secret 

Those bright eyes will seek and find. 

Baby's eyes are full of gladness and bright- 
ness, 

And when he laughs 

They sparkle Uke the sunshine glistening on 
the dancing waters. 

December, igo2. 



97 



The Poems of a Child 



The Thorn 

The little stinging thorn 
But very small, 

Can penetrate the whitest hand. 
The thorn is like a sorrow to you yet un- 
known 
But when it pierces you 
You know the sorrow very well. 

December 2j, igo2. 



Morn 

When the rosy morn brings forth Aurora 
With her chariot of sun or her chariot of 

rain 
We greet her with a happy smile 
Wondering which chariot she brings 
And if we are very anxious to know 
We consult the weather prophet 
To whom she tells her secret. 

December 2j, IQ02, 

98 



The Poems of a Child 



Magic Music 

When I stand on the mountain top 
When I stand on the mountain top, I gaze 
O'er the country wild, and wonder 
If some great thing will happen there, 
If some battle will be conquered there, 
If some spirit will alight in its woods. 

December, igo2. 



The Rustling Leaves 

The little leaves blow round in sprightly 

dance, 
When the moon rises high in the blackened 

sky 
And hold a council while the brook is their 

musician 
And the wind is their singer. 

December, igo2. 

99 

L.ofC. 



The Poems of a Child 



The Fairies* Boat 

The Fairies have boats as well as we 
And what do you think is their boat? 
It has no masts and it has no sails 
And the wind is its oar, Oh, I am sure 
You can never guess so I will have to tell 
you. 

Chorus 

It is a tiny leaf 

A tiny leaf is the fairies' boat. 

December, igo2. 



100 



The Poems of a Child 



My Wish 

I think that when I grow up I should 
like to be a painter, so that I could paint 
the rocky mountains and the wavy fields. 
Or perhaps I should like to be a musician 
and play as well as the birds sing, or perhaps 
I should like to be a poetess to express my 
thoughts about different pretty scenes in 
the world. 

December, igo2. 



Day Dreams ' 

There once lived a serene and beautiful 
lady. Her eyes were sky-blue. Her lips 
were a beautiful pale red. She was a 
poetess. She used to sit for hours and 
think beautiful things and that is why she 
was called Day Dreams. 

December, igo2. 

lOI 



The Poems of a Child 



Daffodils* 

THE golden daffodils flutter round 
In the frolicsome breeze; 
While the little leaves are not to be found 
Because the heads of the daffodils hide 
them if you please. 

December, igo2. 



Violets . 

Oh, little violets, what are you like? 
Are you like the purple sunset? 
Or are you like the purple mountains? 
Oh, little violets what pretty scene in nature 
are you like? 

December, igo2. 

* This and the five following poems about flow- 
ers were written for Christmas, 1902. 



102 



The Poems of a Child 



Poppies 

Oh, poppies red you are the guardian of 

sleep. 
You mischievous flower. 
As soon as one walks within your premises 
You throw the veil of sleep o'er him. 

December, igo2. 



Nasturtiums 

Pretty nasturtiums, you ai^ of all colors. 
The colors of the rainbow and the sunset 
You illumine the garden beds with your 
brilliancy. 

December, igo2. 



103 



The Poems of a Child 



Lilies 

Oh, lilies white, you signify purity. 

You grow amidst the tall rank grass of the 

meadows green. 
And down in the dells where the brook 

babbles loud. 
The Madonna chooses you to pluck and to 

stay with her, 
For you are as pure as she. 

December, igo2. 



104 



The Poems of a Child 



Dandelions 

Oh, little yellow dandelion 

You are but a ray of sunshine, 

When you are arrayed in your bright yellow 

dress 
You look like a tiny sunbeam fair}'- 
And when you have your white dress on 
You look like a little snow fairy. 
Oh, little dandelions, sometimes you look 

like summer 
And sometimes you look like winter. 

December, igo2. 



105 



The Poems of a Child 



May- 
May's bright beams bring May flowers. 
May's bright beams bring soft moss for 

elves to dance upon 
As flit by the night hours, 
May's bright beams bring as many blessings 
as one should wish. 

January 26, ipoj. 



The Fairy Boat 

The boat of a fairy is made by God, 
The boat of a fairy is blown from the trees 
Blown by the heedless autumn winds. 
The wind that takes no heed to the leaves 
But carries them off on his swift aerial steed. 

January 27, IQOJ. 



106 



The Poems of a Child 



The Bats 

[a shepherd's song.] 

When the moon in the starry sea shines 

brightly 
And the black-winged bats, dark as the 

opaque night 
Fly over the woods and silent rivers; 
Carrying a tiny fairy-maid upon their 

backs 
As sometimes does the butterfly; 
I watch them as I guard my sheep, 
I love to watch them from the hill-tops. 

January 27, 1903. 



107 



The Poems of a Child 



The Tear 

A glistening tear from baby's eyes 
Is like a drop of rain 
Just fallen from the gray mystery of the 
skies. 

January 2g, ipoj. 



Spring 

Spring is coming 

I can tell because 

The sun seems about 

To send his soft warm 

Rays upon the earth 

To wake the flowers. 

He seems so soft and bright now 

I'm sure it's neariy Spring. 

January 2Q, 1903, 

108 



The Poems of a Child 

Beauty Near the Lake 

Down by the cold blue winter lake 
Stand the staunch and stately birch 
In bare unconsciousness. 
Although their gown like Cinderella's 
Fell on the invisible wings of the wind, 
They are beautiful to my eyes 
With the signs of their many joys 
And their branches waving in the wind 
To salute and hail the coming Spring. 

And then the old old bridge, 

So true, so ignorant. 

That stands to face the infinite world 

And not a thing to support it in way of 
knowledge. 

In another form this masterpiece 

(Made a masterpiece by fairies' nimble 
fingers) 

Stands or rests against the ethereal dome, 

Inapprehensive of it. 

So many little feet trod upon this vine- 
covered antique bridge 

Ringing forth peals of melodious laughter 

Which echo in the distant canyons, 
109 



The Poems of a Child 

Like fairy church bells 

In childish merriment and innocence. 

Perhaps a pair of birds appear. 

And build among the shrubbery near by. 

At this place that is fit for the winged 

wonder, Pegasus 
Fairies come nigh ly to dance 
While lily bells serve as the music 
And owls give the signal of danger. 

April 3-22, IQ02. 



Lincoln 

When Lincoln walked the grassy paths 

The birds sang sweetly 

Telling of what he might be, 

And I think that Lincoln understood 

And so was still a better man. 

That is how Lincoln became so great 

Just through Nature's children. 

February 12, ipoj. 

no 



The Poems of a Child 



The Cave of Ice 

A cave of icicles is more beautiful than any 

fairies' dwelling 
The transparent icicles hanging low 
Like the choicest bit of crystal 
The smooth path of ice leading through the 

cave 
Like a wonderful marble floor 
And the translucent ceiling 
Letting through the sunbeams 
To shine on one of Nature's secrets 
Making it look like a palace of gold. 

February 14, igoj. 



Ill 



The Poems of a Child 



The Silent Shore 

At night when the heaven gleams with stars 
And the peaceful lady moon sits quietly 

guarding, 
In her ocean of opaque black 
The waves beneath her silently splashing 
In their dream sleep, 
I often wonder what they dream about 
Because they seem to feel the stillness of the 

night 
And do not play as much as in the sunshine 
But quietly splash 

Though they are little frolicsome waves 
Ever frisking, ever playing, 
God made them feel the stillness of the 

night. 

February 14, igoj. 



113 



The Poems of a Child 



The Poplar Trees 

Upon the hill-tops by the brook 
Grow the Poplar, tall and straight 
Nodding to the sunset 
O'er the westward hills, 
And nodding to the stream 
Meandering from the woods 
And down below, another poplar 
Nods to the fleecy clouds. 

May 4, 1903, 



"3 



The Poems of a Child 



A Hilly Country 

Resting on the distant woody hills 
Are the fleecy clouds 
Catching glints of sunshine 
And there beside the lowland brook 
Rest clumps of lilac bushes 
And upon the summit of the hill 
Is a tall green poplar tree 
And farther down the hill 
An aged apple tree 
Sends its petals on the wind 
To the rose bushes way down beside the 
brook. 

^^y 5. 1903- 



114 



The Poems of a Child 



Evening 

Evening's veil hung o'er all the land, 

O'er the distant purple hills, 

O'er forest covered places 

And o'er the brook which hastens 

'Neath the woody hill. 

Sunset fell so quietly 

Save the murmuring of the brook. 

No radiant light we see 

And yet no darkness, 

But a yellow and purple sunset 

Faintly illumines the sky 

Above the distant hills. 

May 5, igoj. 



"S 



The Poems of a Child 



Gladsome Robins 

O'er hill and o'er vale 

On this bright summer day 

Ring the joyous clear notes of the robins 

O'er the trees of the hill 

They come fluttering 

And here in the meadow 

By ferns and by flowers 

They build their small homes. 

May 6, igoj. 



The Lonely Vale 

The valley lies in earthly peace and quiet, 

No sound can be heard 

But the lonely trill of the cardinal-fringed 

brook 
This desolate place may be occupied 
By dwarfs and fairies 
Who come to reign over gray veil land. 

May 13, 1903. 
116 



The Poems of a Child 



A Sweet Dream of a May Day 

[written for a wedding anniversary.] 

One glistening day, 

While Heaven smiled on earth below 

The lake lay quiet this sweet day of May 

When little blue-eyed Alice 

Came and sat beneath the tree, 

When she started and listened. 

It was imaginary angels singing for her 

wedding. 

May 21, igoj. 



117 



The Poems of a Child 



Song to the Wind 

Oh, mighty wind 

That tosses billows in the air 

And blows the fields 

Of quivering grain; 

That tosses snowflakes through the trees 

And plays so many tricks 

That we forget 

What good you do. 

June 2, 1903. 



The Clouds 

I see many forms in clouds, 

Angels guarding us. I'm sure that is a 

message from our Lord 
And trees of many kinds. 
I also see a funny face 
Laughing because I'm just a speck, you see. 

June 2, 190J. 

118 



The Poems of a Child 



The Quiet Cemetery 

In the quiet cemetery 
In the quiet church-yard, shaded by grace- 
ful fir trees 
Lie the dead; so many quiet faces 
Of soldiers and of friends. 
But most sad of all 
Their lips will speak not evermore. 

June 2, 1903. 



The Woods 

The darkest place of the green woods 
Evidences whence we were in the dark, 
Or our past days of lovely innocence. 
And sunshine nearer us 
Is the light of these more heavenly days 
When we are near the summit. 

June 2, 1903. 

119 



The Poems of a Child 



Woodland Tower 

Rising out of supreme greenness every- 
where 

Towers a woodland mountain 

Like a cherished flower, 

Greeting ocean breezes with a courtesy of 
its trees 

Oh, tower of beauty, 

Looking down upon the other steps or hills 

What marble step of life are you 

Leading to all Heaven's celestial blue? 

June 5, 1903. 



120 



The Poems of a Child 



V 



The Old Orchard 

In the orchard's silence 

Where the grasses tall and slender 

Grow to meet the hidden sun, 

Under shade of apple trees 

And the fir trees make a shade 

For lilies of the valley, 

There I feel a stillness 

And a wish to never leave it. 

June 5, 1903. 



121 



The Poems of a Child 



The Country Church 

Rising from the green depths of the woody 

hills 
Is the white ghostly figure of the pretty 

country church 
In marble eminence. 
And all around it are in fairy net work 
Fields and meadows, woods and dells. 
And far below in clearest mystery and 

innocence 
Flows a crystal river 
Babbling and dancing within its shaded 

dells. 

fune II, 1903. 



122 



The Poems of a Child 



The Brook 

Through clumps of tall green fern 
Merrily babbles a silvery brook, 
The guide of many a fairy's eye 
As it points for them a fairy's nook 
It tinkles and babbles as no lily bell could 
And meanders gracefully through the wood 
Then out into the shining fields again 
Through woods and shining fields it flows 
As if on the wings of the night. 

June 14, 1903. 



123 



The Poems of a Child 



Sunset Meadow 

When evening's veil hangs Hghtly over all 

the land 
Over this secret and lovely meadow 
Lighted by a beautiful soft mystic light, 
The grasses gently waver to the music of 

the song birds, 
To the brook's unconscious trill 
And to the vibrations of the poet's imagina- 
tion. 

July 5, 1903- 



124 



The Poems of a Child 



Indian Chant 

Once in these fields Moscow, the savage 
Indian Chief did roam. He, fierce of heart 
and fierce of mind with bow and arrow 
fixed aslant was called one day from sleepy 
thoughts of half-moon hunts to fight with 
Scowwatee, his enemy, chief of yonder 
woods' inhabitants. He quickly to the 
field did run. Glad of heart and still 
adream of happy times, he sat beneath an 
enchanted weeping-willow tree, so unaware 
that death's most painful scythe was near. 
He ne'er e'en saw the flowers of the field 
and wood. 

When Scowwatee*s unique form was seen 
on yon horizon line. Scowwatee soon was 
at his feet and slayed him in his dream of 
happiness. 

After Moscow passed away a wicked 
witch resided there. She did not love the 
flowers, so no pleasant life must hers have 
been without the quiet lesson of the modest 
heroines of the field and wood. 

July 10, 1903. 
125 



The Poems of a Child 



Nature 

My joy is in the ripened fields of harvest 

grain, 
And in the simple lesson of a modest flower, 
In the rest and sweet communion of the 

yellow daisies, 
Originally called "The Indian Peace 

Flower," 
My joys are also in the tranquil darkness of 

the woods 
And in the ceaseless laughter of the merry 

brook. 
And by no means can I say 
That anything that Nature touches with 

her placid hand 
Can be other than my joy. 

July 15, 1Q03. 



126 



The Poems of a Child 



Nature's Argument 

Oh, sons of men, ye are so unacquainted 
With the starry flowers of aromatic field 

and wood 
Ye ought many times a glistening day to 

adhere 
To Nature's pleasant friends. 
Betake thyself to placid lake or pond 
Where an unhappy fairy's snow-white lily 

cup lies waiting for her tears. 
And there as if a tiny water sprite doth 

spring up out of the lily cup 
And bringeth it to you. 
Ye will learn a lesson 
Unknown to many men of all this antique 

earth. 
Another lesson ye shall learn studying 

ancient rocks 

* Hid in the greenery of the topmost branches 
of an apple-tree in the old orchard, JuUa chanted 
this poem to the family assembled on the veranda. 

127 



The Poems of a Child 

Which show the signs of undreampt of 

miracles. 
Oh, sons of men 
Commune with the rythmic music of the 

silvery brook 
Where mermaid's hair blows round about 
The tranquil wood doth wait for you, 
Where squirrels dart in and out 
Like arrow heads innumerable. 
Ye can but love her for she is everywhere 

July 30, 1903. 



128 



The Poems of a Child 



To Aunt Tess 

The woodbird's notes can not compare with 

thine 
Which are Hke the soft weird tones of 

mermaids, 
A buoy floating, wavering, riding on the 

waves, 
A voice so soft and rare 
That a nymph's mirthful singing is your 

voice again. 
The angels' tones announcing the birth of 

Christ 
Are the same sweet notes as yours 
Their voice alone was heard 
And yours alone I hear in the dark silence 

of the night 
And still the glorious Star of the East must 

crown your fair blond hair 
And guide you into the realms of melody. 

August, igoj. 



129 



The Poems of a Child 



The Silent Wood 

[written after a morning spent in 

THE woods] 

Let me, oh, let me lay my weary head to 

rest. 
When the golden days of my life are o'er, 
When the merry waves of the river of life 

subside, 
Then let me lay my weary head to rest 
On the rock which in days gone by 
Was my throne while I learned the secrets 

of the woods. 
Let me lie beneath the azure skies 
Under the shelter of all the loving trees 
While they whisper tales of long ago. 

August 2g, 1903. 



130 



The Poems of a Child 



Eventide at the Ocean* 

At the close of day Evening gently throws 

her tranquil veil over all God's grateful 

earth 
And then in sweet communion both the 

peaceful sunset and the reflecting waters 

are found. 
The sunset's subdued kiss still visible and 

the rythmic words of the waves so full 

of mirth 
Are heard in a lull hushed by the coming 

of the sunset which also is the veil of 

dreams to them 
At almost first sight of her their words are 

hushed in awe. 

August 12, I go J. 

* This and the two following poems were 
written for the seventy-third birthday of Julia's 
grandfather, spent by him in Nantucket. 



131 



The Poems of a Child 



The Marsh at Nantucket 

Beauty rests under all our firmament on 
high, 

In the fields of waving grass 

She, the innocent of Nature, every day a 
new seed sows of art and beauty in her 
spacious garden nigh 

The woods, the hills, the trees, the laugh- 
ing, sighing, trees, daily nightly she 
doth pass. 

But last and most beautiful of all the low- 
land marsh more wonderful she makes. 

The tall swamp grass of many quaint dull 
colors bend in the whispers of the 
breeze ; 

And all are happy in the midst of so many 
splendors. 

August 22, JpOJ, 



132 



The Poems of a Child 



A Happy Birthday 

The sun is setting behind the purple hills 

At the close of a pleasant day 

And all the beauties round about with more 

than one rosy kiss he stills 
And one kind heart is happy as he climbs 

his tranquil way 
For he remembers days gone by with a 

peaceful smile, but moumeth not for 

them, 
For he is happy in his own kind way. 

August 27, 1903. 



133 



The Poems of a Child 



My Little Followers' 

I shall come back with the birds of the 

Spring. 
I shall bring with me in Beauty's bag 
The bright little songsters 
The stars of the night 
And the stars of the field. 
I shall bring summer with my song 
And speed winter by my touch. 

* This and the seven poems that follow were 
written as a leave-taking to the country at the 
end of Julia's holidays in September, 1903. 



X34 



The Poems of a Child 



The Joy of the Country 

Such freedom, such joy in the country, 

half-veiled with the secrets of nature 

and art 
On our earth there is art as in Psyche's land 

of thought. 
From the hill's majestic stature to the 

meadow's dainty flowers arranged like 

stars in Heaven 
I love my dear own native country from 

the giant mountains to the tiny little 

rills. 



135 



The Poems of a Child 



Departure 

The little bird that flies away from the 
home so dear to her 

On wings of moments sad and glad, 

Some other day will come again to cheer the 
hearts of those whose kind deeds for- 
gotten never were. 

And when the thoughts of the dear home 
'mong the hills come over her mind, 
then shall they make her sad. 



What Time Brings 

When Time with his scythe cuts sharp the 

air 
Like the ringing words of sorrow 
What then shall misery bring, some day 

lost again by Time in the river of life? 
" Enough for one September day," says Joy. 
136 



The Poems of a Child 



The Country Sublime 

When the bright summer days are o'er 
Then must I leave the country which dearly 

I love 
With its skies of azure and the mighty 

snow-white clouds which to the sunset's 

veil majestically do soar 
And to the mountain's crest above. 
With the country, the country unique, 

which is the realm of dreams 
Naught could compare — 
Its beaming beauty everywhere. 
The country, the country sublime. 



137 



The Poems of a Child 



When Summer is O'er 

When the summer days are o'er 

And the kites in the air do soar 

And by the North Wind's laughing words 

Like a herd of merry birds 

The golden leaves are blown about; 

And so your thoughts, please, blow about 

And let them reach me in the far West. 



Fall 

Oh, Fall, thy majestic doings. 

One mighty sweep of thy arm and the 

country is changed 
The ground is covered with golden and 

brown. 
The trees are bare in the sight of the sun. 
The hills are purple and cold. 



138 



The Poems of a Child 



Fall and Spring 

I go with the Fall, I come with the Spring 

I fade away with the glories of Fall 

I come with the tender green of Spring at 

my feet. 
The little dancers of the trees wave, a golden 

kiss send me as a token of farewell. 
And the birds and flowers a buoyant greet- 
ing give to me. 



139 



The Poems of a Child 

An Anniversary 

[Wedding] 

The silver moon seemed brighter than ever 
On the eve of that which is only an echo 

of the day when peace was won 
And all the world rejoiced; and before you 

was placed in one sanctified moment the 

crescent of Love which will never sever 
And then to you two Time brought the 

word that you were one 
September knew with her symbol of golden, 

purple and brown. 
She told the nightingale to sing of it, that 

you had won the crown. 
In whispers airy through the forest it was 

passed on word for word. 
And on Aurora's wakening she could not 

keep it secret and it everywhere was 

heard. 

September 22, 1903. 

140 



The Poems of a Child 



An Anniversary 
[Wedding] 

The sun glittered on a thousand children 

of the world; 
But far and wide it could not beam upon 

a happier pair 
Which that day I found 'neath God's azure 

skies. 
Though neither rich nor poor, contented 

in the world they were as is his mighty 

wish. 
From hour to hour they grew with nature 
And love grew also with their thoughts 
Their love was like the "Rock of Ages" 
To the mighty river in which it seeks 

communion. 

September 22, 1903. 



141 



The Poems of a Child 

The Moon 

[Christmas Poem for 1903] 

Preface. 

This poem called "The Moon," is only 
suggestive in a poetical way of the moon. 
It has some very beautiful thoughts in it 
for a short poem. Possibly if the author 
had not had to do it, that is, if she had 
thought the thought without compelling 
her mind to work as it did for the purpose 
so happily looked forward to, it could have 
been better. It is very true that if you 
imagine things beforehand, and that if you 
are fully prepared for the purpose and if 
your mind is in the proper mood, you can 
do much better than if you know that 
Christmas or birthdays, etc., are coming 
and you know you must write something 
for the person that you love and you just 
sit down and say 'Til do it " without fur- 
142 



The Poems of a Child 

ther preparation or inspiration. Perhaps 
the poem may be very good, but it could 
have been better if it had been thought 
about and done sooner. So the author may 
have some excuse for the hastily written 
poem. 

The Moon is Love's crescent lost in the 

heavenly seas. 
An eminent silver dream that floats with 

regardless ease 
Where to help her graceful vanity 
Love and Psyche with whom she would 

never part 
In a woven net of mystery catch the 

thoughts of all lovers of phantom art 
This dweller of the lofty skies a spirit seems 
Whose vibrating thread of intercourse with 

us is made of a thousand laughing beams 
She thinks profoundly of our beautiful but 

wicked world 
And of her lonely echoing caves. 
But she would rather be with her com- 
panions in the ethereal waves. 

September, iQOj. 



143 



\^ 



The Poems of a Child 



Sunset 

The sunset is the veil of eventide 
A curtain the sorrows of the day to hide 
And to reflect on clouds of silvery glow 
The past day's joys which into night will 

flow. 
The sky illumined with memory's gleam 
Is the speeding day's last beam 
Which fled on wings of mirth and care 
To mingle with the peaceful sunset air. 

October j, igoj. 



144 



The Poems of a Child 



Twilight 

Twilight wraps the fading day 
In folds of golden clouds 
And unrolls the dark night 
Noiselessly from the calm sky. 

October 20, igoj. 



Youth 

When I was young I loved the birds and 

bees, 
I loved the sky, I loved the sighing trees, 
I loved the fields, I loved the babbling 

stream, 
And all day long I used to dream and 

dream 
Of all the lovely things I saw and heard, — 
The hill, the field, the little singing bird. 



145 



From a Note-book Entitled 

" Sentences 
That I Make Up" . 



A Thought of a Lonely Damp 
Valley 



AMP in the valley 
Like the touch of a ghost. 




A thought of the trees 
as being so beautiful that 
they were banished from 
the kingdom of greenness. 

The stately boughs 
Of banished kings. 



A thought of the hills in a network of 
meadows and hills, woods and dells as — 

The architecture of 
Nature's placid hand. 



I just love to write. Whenever I am 
ready for a new sentence it comes to me as 
149 



The Poems of a Child 

if I turned and saw an angel bringing it to 

me. 

In sunshine or in shade 
The gossamer wings of joy- 
Are always to be seen. 



The pond-lily is the poet's cup from which 
he drinks his thoughts. 

A thought — that each star is stamped 
with one beautiful thought of a certain 
poet. AFTER-THOUGHT— The star must 
be the one he loves best. 



The clouds do break away from Lady 

Moon 
As waves that hide the deep-sea pearl. 



The little clouds that scurry by 
Do fan her heavenly cares away. 

The moon doth speed away the time 

Through latticed sky 

Swiftly on wings of Nebula she doth fly. 



The sunset is the veil of dreams. 
150 



The Poems of a Child 

Hope rests on the shadow 
Of the mighty wings of Faith. 



Love doth make stars to shine 
In the gray, grieving skies of care. 



Mirth beautifies all the rainbowed firmament 

of Hope. 
Youth is crowned with all the glories of 

Providence. 



Thinking of the days past as — 

Fallen to the waves of the river of life. 



The valley lies in earthly peace. 



THE END 



II IN ^ IHOti 






^^H|; In 


^ 




1 





